An Act of Friendship
by ficscribbler
Summary: Veronica steps out of her comfort zone for the sake of friendship.


**An Act of Friendship**

Summary: _Veronica steps out of her comfort zone for the sake of friendship._

Disclaimer: _All legal rights to The Lost World belong to the Estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the licensed creators of the television series._

Oct 2013

~~~TLW~~~TLW~~~TLW~~~

Veronica shouldered through the crowded pathways between the stalls of the marketplace, trying not to cringe at the noise and general chaos that surrounded her. She really couldn't understand why Marguerite liked coming here; the brunette called it "the closest thing to Harrods", which she'd said was a marketplace found inside a single structure back in London. While the jungle-born blonde understood the concept, she didn't see the allure. Although she'd enjoyed the excitement and novelty of coming here with her parents twice a year when she's been a child, she now disliked and distrusted the so-called "taste of civilization" her friend so enjoyed. Even the men seemed to like the semi-annual shopping pilgrimages.

This community had been built here solely for commerce, and consisted only of huts and stalls crammed willy-nilly along narrow paths that twisted and turned off the single gateway within a strong palisade. The marketplace was considered to be neutral ground because the vendors and visitors haled from all across the plateau. Of course marketplace neutrality didn't keep the occasional brawl from breaking out between visitors who were from adversarial tribes – or even between competing buyers vying for the same product.

The jumbled area was full of strangers, and Veronica found it disconcerting to be jostled by people who apparently had no awareness or respect for others around them as their attention focused on the products displayed in the plethora of wooden booths. It was next to impossible to predict which people would be good-natured and which would be aggressive in pursuing what they wanted. The tightness of the always-shifting space troubled her, making her long for the openness beyond the perimeter. Moreover, the multitude of bodies meant a multitude of odors. Some of the other shoppers clearly considered coming here to be a special occasion that called for not only gaudy garments and jewelry but also very strong perfumes; others looked like they'd traveled a long way at great effort, with the sweat and filth of multiple unwashed days on the trail emanating from them. Added to that was the scent of raw or cooked foods, hides and leathers, organic and chemical dyes, newly-cast metals, herbs, incense and other products being sold by the vendors. And the clamor! Vendors calling out their sales pitches, buyers shouting their bargaining for a better price, friends chattering with raised voices to be heard over the din as they perused the available wares, people arguing with one another about what needed to be bought and what didn't, tired children crying or whining – in short, the marketplace was sensually overwhelming, and sometimes downright disgusting.

Veronica grimaced as she was shoved to the left by yet another shopper laden with baskets of already-purchased goods. She shifted to regain her balance, and squeezed between two men haggling with a third over some kind of farming tools. Her keen gaze was caught by a display of daggers, and her step faltered for a second before she sternly reminded herself of the reason she was subjecting herself to these unsettling surroundings. This venture wasn't for her benefit, and she didn't need another knife, no matter how well-made those blades looked. Determinedly, she continued to weave her way through the crowd.

It was another ten minutes of dodging elbows and pushy hawkers before she finally glimpsed what she was looking for: a stall displaying brightly colored materials. With a sigh of relief she slid off the main pathway and into the alley between two booths. Of course there were three other women in the narrow space, already fingering the various fabrics stacked on the crowded countertop, but the noise level dropped slightly and there was almost a foot of space between her and the next shopper – at least for now. Veronica sucked in her breath as one of the ladies raised her arm to stroke a blue striped bolt of cloth, and along with the jingle of a dozen bracelets came a whiff of an odor that smelled like one of Challenger's earliest failed attempts at creating scented soap.

Blinking to clear her suddenly watering eyes, Veronica quickly pulled three bolts of fabric from the stacks – silky lilac, pale blue cotton, and one striped red and white. Clutching them to her chest and glaring defiantly at the other women who seemed suddenly interested in the same items, she shuffled around to the booth front where the trader waited. Much as she yearned to just accept whatever price the man asked and get out of here as fast as she could, she steeled herself for the bargaining that had to be done.

It took far longer than she expected; Charnax, the textile merchant, drove a hard bargain. It was probably because he'd noticed that she knew exactly what she wanted, and he expected her to pay a premium. Of course she really did know exactly what she wanted, but it might have been better, as Marguerite might have said, employ a little strategy. But it was too late for any attempt at subterfuge. This bartering was not the kind of battle Veronica excelled at, and she was nowhere near as good at it as she was at tracking a squirrel monkey through the bush.

But she persisted grimly until they finally reached a mutually-acceptable amount for the cloth she wanted to take home. At least she'd made the man sweat when she'd threatened to walk away from the deal. Marguerite would be proud of her for that.

Much to her annoyance, she had just laid down the agreed-upon gold when one of the other shoppers pushed up alongside Veronica and made a counterbid for the purple colored material, her tone imperious and her challenging glance at the younger woman more than a little condescending as her lip curled at the homemade leather clothing Veronica wore.

Her patience at a breaking point, she gritted her teeth and stood her ground. "We already agreed on a price," she said flatly. "The goods are mine."

The merchant met her icy gaze and hastily agreed, almost groveling as he assured her that the textiles were indeed hers. He hastily wrapped the cloth and offered it to her with shaking hands.

Veronica accepted it and stalked away without deigning to speak again.

People seemed to melt away before her as she made her way out of the marketplace. She was back outside the log palisade in far less time than it had taken to work her way to the fabric vendor Marguerite favored. She resisted the urge to smile. Apparently the militaristic posture, martial glare, and regal stride she'd learned during her training with the Amazons was as effective at intimidating others as the warrior tribe had claimed.

Veronica increased her pace to a space-eating lope that quickly took her out of sight and sound range of the "Plateau Mall", as Ned called it. Gradually her ire faded. Her mood vastly improved as all signs of human habitation were left behind and she was surrounded by the untamed jungle she so loved. She slowed down a little, deliberately taking note of the buzz of insects, chatter of monkeys, cawing of birds overhead, the sound of the breeze rustling the ferns and underbrush, the acidic scent of greenery mixed with the lighter wafting scents of blossoms, the rich odor of the earth beneath her feet. ..

Much better.

If she had her druthers, she'd take nature over civilization any day of the week.

Nonetheless, she was satisfied with what she'd accomplished. And her eager anticipation of presenting her gift would make the journey home pass quickly.

After the most recent incident of Marguerite's past coming back to haunt them all – which had resulted in some significant damage to the tree house that the men were still working to repair – the brunette had shied away from spending time with her housemates. Other than pitching in on the cleanup and mending book bindings, she stayed in her room. Since Veronica had no idea why the older woman was avoiding her, she approached Roxton.

He'd sighed as he continued sizing the next plank to replace a section of splintered flooring. "She thinks you blame her for the loss of the books and belongings we couldn't save," he'd said, "She believes that what happened didn't just mess up the tree house, but also her friendship with you. I can't seem to convince her otherwise."

It made sense, once she thought about it. From what she knew of Marguerite's past, friendship had been offered and revoked based on what each person did or didn't get out of the relationship. Faced with the very visible damage done to their home, of course Marguerite needed a little reassurance about where she stood in Veronica's affections!

But the older woman still didn't talk easily about her emotions, even with Roxton. How could Veronica assure her that she didn't hold her at fault, and that their relationship was undamaged?

The answer had come to her when she overheard her friend bemoaning the deteriorating condition of their European-style clothing as she mended yet another tear in one of Roxton's shirts. "By the time we have time to go get more cloth, we won't have anything fit to wear!"

That was it!

The tree house residents, like Veronica's family before them, only went to the marketplace twice a year. They prepared shopping lists weeks ahead of time and took a cart along, filled with trade goods such as skinned hides and Challenger's medicines or small inventions. Like most other buyers who journeyed to the marketplace, they also packed tents, bedding, and basic food supplies and camped outside the marketplace walls for several days to allow enough time to obtain everything on their list. It was a major undertaking that usually required being away from the tree house for a week altogether.

But if she went alone she wouldn't be held back by the loaded cart… or by companions who could not keep up with the speed with which she could cover ground alone. Without the others she could be there, pick up some cloth for Marguerite, and be back in a day, maybe a day and a half at most. Of course she heartily disliked the marketplace. When she'd lived alone at the tree house, she'd never once gone there, preferring to trade with the Zanga for anything she couldn't make or gather for herself. But the Zanga didn't have the kind of material Marguerite needed to replace their threadbare clothes. And obtaining material for Marguerite was something a friend would do. It was a gesture she could understand. It might be just what she needed.

So she'd told the others she had an errand to run and she'd be back by the next day. If she kept up her current pace, she could reach the Zanga village around midnight and catch a couple hours sleep before heading out again. She'd be home before lunch.

Veronica smiled her satisfaction and ran on, her muscles loosening as she fell into the rhythm of a ground-eating stride.

In the end, the travel distance and stress of a visit to the marketplace was well worth it.

Marguerite was visibly touched when Veronica handed her the three precious rolls of cloth and associated threads. She was well-aware of the younger woman's opinion of the only venue where such materials could be purchased. "You went there… for this? For me?"

Veronica shrugged. "You're my best friend."

Marguerite smiled her first genuine smile in days. Without hesitation, she set aside the material, stood and wrapped her arms around Veronica, hugging her tightly. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Meeting Roxton's approving gaze over the brunette's shoulder as she hugged her back, she knew her mission had been successful.


End file.
